Light was fading from the sky as Michael reached his destination. This time he didn't pay any attention to the alien-themed crap in the windows; instead he peered in to make sure the shop was empty of customers before heading inside.
Mrs. DeLuca was behind the cash register and glanced up, a smile on her face, as the door opened. Her eyes widened as she took in his presence, and the smile faded away, but her voice was calm as she spoke. "Hello, Michael."
"Hey, Mrs. DeLuca," Michael managed, then glanced away, suddenly regretting the stupid impulse that brought him there. But he owed her for his revoked suspension, not to mention for his culpability in the whole Bob situation. He wanted out from under these obligations, and this was as good a start as any...if he could only bring himself to do it.
Her eyebrows rose at his continued silence. "So what can I do for you?"
"I don't know. I just thought you...you might have some questions or something. You know, now that you know," he fumbled.
"Oh," she said. "I was just about to close up anyway." Moving from behind the counter, she locked the front door and flipped the sign over to 'Closed'. Michael noticed absently that even the sign had cartoon aliens on it. "All right, Michael. I do have a question."
He nodded, mentally rehearsing the possible answers. There were a bunch of them, depending on what aspect of his alien status she would touch on first. It shouldn't be too hard, right? He'd already admitted to her what he was; that was the big thing. He just hoped he could explain things right.
So he was more than taken aback when, instead of saying anything about aliens, she asked something quite different.
"Did you sleep with my daughter?"
Michael's mouth fell open. "Wh...what?"
Mrs. DeLuca did not look amused. "I thought the question was quite clear. I asked if you had sex with Maria," she said bluntly.
"What has that got to do with being an alien?" he blurted.
"Nothing. But that's my question. When that other alien was here, you said you'd only told Maria you loved her so you could get laid, I believe you put it."
What the hell was going on? This was not happening. He was not hearing Maria's mother ask this stuff. He had to be hallucinating, because this was just wrong.
"So what I want to know is, was that true?"
Goddammit. He wasn't hallucinating. "No."
"No, you didn't lie about loving her, or no, you didn't sleep with her?"
"Neither! I didn't--we didn't--" he said, flustered. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. She studied him for a minute, then nodded once.
"Okay."
His hands clenched, he snapped, "Why didn't you just ask Maria?"
"I did. But I wanted to know what you had to say. I know it may seem a little hypocritical, considering I have a seventeen-year-old daughter, but I don't want her having sex. She's too young. So are you, for that matter, but since I'm not your mother, I'm not going to press that issue."
Embarrassment grew into anger. Since when was his sex life any of her business anyway? Since never. "I didn't come here for this," he spat out. "I only came because I thought you might have questions about the alien thing."
"No, not really. Max and Tess told me about everything I need to know, complete with demonstrations."
Abruptly all of Michael's irritation flooded away, leaving him frozen. She knew about Max and Tess? Oh god.
If she knew about Max and Tess, she probably knew about Isabel, too. For a moment, everything around him faded away, grew distant, like looking in the wrong end of a telescope. Then eleven years of well-deserved fear and paranoia rose up to overwhelm him. Bad enough when it was just him, but all of them...oh god. He had to get out of there.
They had to get out of there.
"Twenty-four hours," he gasped out. "Give us twenty-four hours to get out of Roswell. We'll leave, I promise, just--"
"Michael." Mrs. DeLuca's voice cut through his inarticulate babbling but not through his panic. A moment later a hand reached out to grasp his chin, and she forced him to look her directly in the eye. "Michael," she repeated slowly, "It's all right."
He heard her, but in his distress the words didn't really make sense. He twitched backwards, pulling away from her like an unbroken colt, before her meaning got through.
"Michael!" His gaze shot to her face. She looked deadly serious. "I am not turning you in. I won't tell anyone about you...any of you. I promise."
Michael wasn't used to people keeping promises; he'd learned that lesson early on. But as he stood there, his heart still racing, he realized he wanted to believe this one. He didn't know if he could, but he wanted to. Finally he gave a nod. He would at least try.
"So, I'm guessing trust isn't really your strong suit," Mrs. DeLuca commented.
Talk about the understatement of the year. "No...not really."
"I think I can understand why." She paused, then added, "But you trust Maria."
"Yeah."
"And she trusts you."
That he wasn't so sure about, not really. Unless Maria trusted him to hurt her; he was a little too capable of doing that. But he wasn't about to argue the point with her mother.
"If you don't have any more questions, I should go."
"That other alien--your father--" Mrs. DeLuca began.
"He's not my father."
"He lied?"
Michael nodded.
"I think I'm glad, for your sake." She paused. "Did he lie about other things, too?"
"What do you mean?"
"He said you killed someone."
Shit. "Yeah. I did."
She looked at him expectantly, but he didn't offer any further explanation. He was pretty sure Bob hadn't even been talking about Pierce; the shapeshifter had no way of knowing about that when he said it. But he'd known Michael in his former life; he had to know about his sister, and anyone Michael might have killed in battle or something. The title 'second-in-command' made that quite possible, though Michael had no certain knowledge of it. Not having been reborn, Bob could remember what Michael didn't.
"That's it? You killed someone, and no explanation?"
Michael shrugged, trying not to let the question phase him. "What's the point? All the explanations in the world aren't going to change the fact that he's dead."
"What happened, Michael?"
God, didn't she ever give up? She was almost worse than Maria. Fine. If she wanted to know that badly, he'd tell her.
"His name was Agent Pierce. He was head of the FBI Special Unit. He captured Max and tortured him, and he was going to kill Sheriff Valenti. I stopped him."
In the ensuing silence, Michael didn't look at her. He didn't particularly want to see the expression on her face.
Finally she spoke. "I see."
Was that all she had to say? Didn't she see what it meant? Why didn't she say it? "Go ahead, tell me to stay away from Maria. It's nothing I haven't told myself a million times."
"Michael, I'm not going to pretend that this isn't serious. It is. But I'm not going to tell you to stay away, either."
"You'd let Maria be with a killer?"
"I think I'd let Maria be with the guy who put himself between her and a madman."
"But he wouldn't have been there in the first place except for me."
"That may be true, and I don't want anything like that to ever happen to her again. But I'm not naive, Michael. I find out my daughter has been running around, hiding a whole part of her life from me. I understand why she kept it a secret. But if I tell her to stay away from you, do you honestly expect me to believe she would?"
"She might." He was a little scared to find out.
"I don't want her to have to choose between us. You're both very young, Michael, no matter how old you might feel, and I honestly believe she cares about you. It would be very easy for Maria to let her feelings overwhelm her, push her into making decisions she'd regret later. I'm not going to let that happen.
"So here's the deal. You promise me that you will do your best to see that she is safe, just like you did Thursday, and I won't stand in the way of her seeing you."
Not much of a deal, really. He'd be trying to ensure her safety anyway, and he wasn't sure Maria wanted to see him any more. But if it was what Mrs. DeLuca wanted, he'd comply. He owed her.
"Okay."
Mrs. DeLuca put out a hand, and Michael shook it, feeling a little stupid. "We have a bargain, then," she said.
"Yeah." Michael stood for a moment. "I guess I'll go." Glad it was over, he headed for the door.
"And, Michael?"
"Yeah?"
"This does not constitute permission to sleep with my daughter. I expect you to be a perfect gentleman, you hear?"
Turning back, startled, he caught the smile on her face. Okay, she was teasing him, at least to some degree. But she hadn't actually made him promise this time, and a good thing, too. With a nod, he headed out the door. A perfect gentleman? Mrs. DeLuca didn't know him at all.
*****
With some concern, Liz Parker watched her best friend wipe down the Crashdown's counter. Maria's movements were mechanical and her mind was obviously anywhere other than the restaurant.
Come to think of it, she'd been this way her whole shift. Well, enough was most definitely enough. "All right," Liz said, breaking the silence. "The time for cleaning is over. It's time for ice cream and best friends." Heading into the kitchen, she pulled a container of ice cream out of the freezer without bothering to look at the label, then detoured back into the restaurant proper for a couple of spoons and Maria. Ice cream in one hand, best friend's arm in the other, Liz moved indomitably up the stairs and into her bedroom. The fact that Maria didn't even render a token protest told her that the blonde did indeed need to talk.
"Okay," Liz said as she plopped down on one end of her bed, "what's up with you and Michael?"
But Maria was staring down at the ice cream container. "Liz, why did you grab coffee ice cream? You hate coffee ice cream." Her brow wrinkled, she added, "And not even for Michael Guerin will I eat a whole half-gallon by myself."
"So it is Michael."
Maria sighed and sat down. "When is it not?" she shot back, then corrected herself. "Actually, there's something else, but yeah, most of it is Michael. As usual." She fiddled with the edge of her Crashdown apron. "Liz, do you think he's capable of a real relationship?"
Startled, Liz stared at her friend. "A real relationship?" she echoed, then caught her breath. "Maria, do you mean...you two haven't...."
Maria didn't look the least bit embarrassed as she answered. "No. Excuse me, Liz, but you're my best friend, so don't you think I would have told you as soon as it happened? Besides," she added with a small smile, "I don't think I'd need to ask you if he were capable if that was the case, would I? I'm not talking about the physical stuff. It's the other part, the hard part."
"Honestly?" Liz asked, and Maria nodded. "I think he cares about you," Liz said, "but I can see where he might have a hard time with it. He hasn't been used to people caring about him, right? Until I got shot and we got to know him, he was only close to Max and Isabel. Then you come along, and you start this thing and he doesn't know what to do."
"He said I made him feel human," Maria mused.
"And that's a bad thing?"
"I think he thinks it is. Or at least that it's not worth it." At Liz's confused look, Maria told her about the fight she and Michael had just two days previously. "He doesn't even care if we have a relationship or not," she concluded.
Liz stared at her, dumbfounded. "Maria, how can you think he doesn't care? Try looking at it logically."
"It's not about logic; if it was it'd be easier," Maria objected. "It's all about the emotion here. Logic is so not my strong suit."
Liz's lips twitched upwards in a smile. Maria had a point. "I can help you with that. During your conversation at the motel, did he or did he not tell you he loves you?"
"He did," Maria admitted.
"Well, then?"
"Liz...." Maria hesitated. "Isabel says that what Michael says and what he does and what he really thinks aren't always the same thing. And she's right. I like hearing that he loves me, but if what he says and does are different, how am I supposed to tell which is real?"
So it wasn't going to be enough for her best friend. "Okay, do you love him?" Liz asked patiently.
"Of course I do. Is there anyone else I'd go through this for?"
"Do you think he's ever told anyone else he loves them?"
"No," Maria said without hesitation. "But only because no one ever got through his stupid walls."
"See? No one else got through. Just you, 'Ria. And do you really think it was all your own doing?"
"What do you mean?"
Granted, it was easier to see things more clearly in someone else's relationship than in your own, but still, sometimes her friend was practically blind. "Well, Michael can be pretty stubborn, right?"
"Mule-headed is more like it."
"So if he'd wanted to keep you out, don't you think he would've done just that? Did you really batter through those walls all by yourself, or did Michael let you do it?"
Maria was silent, staring down at the spoon she was toying with. When she spoke again, Liz could hear the pain in her voice. "Then why can't he show how he feels?"
"If he's never loved anyone before, how do you expect him to know how to do it?" Liz asked reasonably.
Maria closed her eyes and fell backward on the bed. "But Liz, is it so bad to want something from him? I don't need flowers and candy and all that perfect boyfriend stuff. I gave that up last spring. I just need him to make some sort of effort, you know? Just to admit that we're worth working on, even if we don't always get it right. I need a little effort, something that doesn't have anything to do with aliens or the FBI or powers. Something to do with us."
"And if he doesn't--or can't--give you that?"
Miserably, Maria answered. "I don't know."
*****
Michael was feeling pretty stupid by the time he arrived back at his apartment building. His footsteps had slowed as he crossed town; he wasn't in any hurry to get back to his empty apartment. Somehow solitude wasn't all that appealing. But neither was another run-in like the one he'd just had.
He'd gone to see Mrs. DeLuca to try and put her at ease with who he was--ha!--but she'd seemed calmer about it than he was. And then she'd started on about Maria....
Maria. Who hadn't yet told him if they were together or not, which was driving him crazy. It had been two freaking days, for god's sake! Couldn't she just make up her mind and put him out of his misery? It would almost be worth her saying no, just to have the waiting over with.
Of course, a 'no' answer might kill him.
He shouldn't have been stupid enough to give her a choice in the first place. He should just have kissed her again. She always seemed to get what he was feeling when he was kissing her. Even if part of it was unadulterated lust....
As he entered the apartment, his foot hit something that skittered across the floor and banked off a bar stool. "What the--" he muttered. Letting the door swing shut behind him, he went to investigate.
The item he'd inadvertently punted into the middle of the living room was a manila envelope, its sides bulging. On the front was his name, printed in handwriting he didn't recognize.
He stooped to pick it up, then turned it over in his hands. It looked perfectly innocent, but how had it gotten inside his apartment in the first place? It was too thick to fit under the door.
Oh, what the hell. Abandoning any sense of restraint, he ripped it open. A little too far open, because the envelope tore down the front, and suddenly there was money everywhere, drifting down to cover the threadbare carpet in a riot of green.
Michael stared at it for a moment, then looked down at the remains of the envelope in his hands. A glimpse of white showed; he fished a note out. It wasn't signed.
Money from the sale of Bob's car, it read. Think of it as the spoils of war. It didn't need to be signed; Nasedo had taken Bob's car when they'd escaped their underground prison two days earlier. He must have sold it. Well, it wasn't like Bob was going to be needing it any more. And Michael could certainly use the cash, especially since Bob's kidnapping spree had gotten Michael fired.
Tossing the envelope and note onto the couch, Michael gathered the bills. Used bills, mostly fifties and one hundreds, with the occasional twenty and one five-hundred dollar bill. Michael had actually never seen one in person before.
He counted the money into swift piles and added it up. It totaled six thousand, seven hundred dollars. Michael let out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding.
Six thousand, seven hundred dollars. He was fucking rich.
*****
Max was half asleep over his Chemistry textbook when the pounding on his window began. Groggily he headed over to unlock it and admit his shivering best friend.
"You could have opened it yourself," Max pointed out. "You can control things now, remember?"
"What? Oh, that," Michael said with a shrug. "I forgot."
Max raised surprised eyebrows at his friend. Michael had battled with uncertain powers for years, and now that he'd finally gotten some control over them, he forgot?
"What's going on?" he said with some trepidation as he sat back on his bed. With barely suppressed excitement, Michael reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what looked like a hunk of cash, dropping it on the bed in front of Max. From the other pocket came more money. Then the spiky-haired alien pulled out Max's desk chair and straddled it, his arms resting across its back.
Max looked at his second-in-command, then back at the money. Then back at Michael.
"I didn't rob a bank, Maxwell," Michael said without the least bit of offense.
Max hastened to assure him, "I didn't think you had. I'm just...."
"Not used to seeing me and this much cash together?" Michael said with a smirk.
"I guess not," Max acknowledged. He was even more surprised at his friend's next comment.
"Well, I signed on with New Mexico Electric and Gas. Good pay. With me and my powers on board, they can shut down an entire generator plant."
"Okay, who are you and what did you do with my best friend? I don't think you've made a joke since...since...." Actually, Max couldn't remember when.
"Yeah, well, I haven't much felt like joking lately," Michael admitted.
"So where'd you come up with the loot?"
"Nasedo sold Bob's car and left the money for me. There's close to seven thousand dollars there."
Max let out a low whistle. "What are you going to do with it?"
"Don't know. But I'm definitely not worrying about a new job 'til after Christmas break. I want to spend some time experimenting. Find out just exactly what I can do now, what my limits are."
"I'll help you practice," Max offered, and got a nod in response. "So will Isabel."
"So will Isabel what?" his sister asked from the doorway. Max wasn't surprised; she had a habit of turning up whenever her name was mentioned. It was spooky. Either that, or she was a habitual eavesdropper.
"Help Michael with his powers," he answered.
"Of course I will," she said immediately. Then her eyes went to the pile of cash on the bed. "What's that?"
"Michael came into an inheritance," Max said. "Nasedo sold Bob's car."
Excitement lit up Isabel's face. "Oh, good. Michael, we can go shopping. You desperately need some decent clothes. And a better couch. And--"
"Can it, Isabel. I don't know what I'm gonna do with it, but it's not gonna be shopping with you. My clothes are fine."
"Please. You give the grunge look a bad name," she scoffed.
"Ain't gonna happen, Iz."
"One. Let me help you pick out one decent outfit, that's all I ask." Michael acted like he hadn't even heard her suggestion, but she didn't give in. "Just think," she prodded, "you can wear it on a date and surprise Maria."
This last comment did have an effect. Max suspected it wasn't really the one she was looking for, though.
"Can't."
"Sure you can. Take her to Senor Chow's and--" Isabel cut herself off, her eyes narrowing. "Okay, Michael. What did you do?"
"What makes you think I did anything?"
Max sat straight up. The back-and-forth banter was one thing, but this was different. "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"I thought you two worked everything out at the motel."
"Yeah, well, maybe that's what we wanted you to think."
"What did you do, Michael?" Isabel pressed.
"I told you," Michael said, bristling, "I didn't do anything."
"Then why can't you take Maria out on a date?"
"Because she hasn't decided if she wants to be with me!" Michael shouted, all patience at an end.
Max stared at him. Had Michael finally lost it? "What do you mean?" Max asked.
"She was complaining that I was trying to control her. Making decisions for her, even if it was just to keep her safe. So I let her decide if she wanted us in a relationship or not."
"What did she say?"
Michael's face darkened. "I don't know. She won't tell me."
Isabel's mouth dropped open. "You're an idiot, Michael."
In this particular case Max agreed, but he refrained from comment. He just watched as his best friend rose, gathered the bundles of cash, and stalked over to the window.
Isabel's next comment kept him from climbing out, though. "Maria has done nothing but show how much she loves you," she lectured. "She went into the dreamscape to get you out when you pulled your little split-personality routine; she conned you into trying for better grades so you wouldn't flunk out and become even more of a bum; she went after you when Bob took you. She's always been the first to support you. She's put up with all this alien nonsense because of you, not because of me or Max. The thought of you being her boyfriend makes her light up in a really sickening way; I've seen it. She loves you, Michael. So how on earth can you think she doesn't want to be in a relationship with you?"
Michael's shoulders sagged. "Then how come she won't say so?"
"I don't know--maybe because you didn't give her much of a chance to?"
"She's had two days!" Michael snapped, wheeling around. "All she has to do is to make a stupid decision!"
"For heaven's sake, Michael, can't you see that that is the problem? She doesn't want to make decisions for the two of you. And she certainly doesn't want you making them; she's too smart for that. You're supposed to be a couple. Maybe she wants you to make the decisions together."
"She knows how I feel. She knows what my vote is."
"And what would that be?" asked Isabel. Max held back a grin as Michael closed his mouth tightly and didn't answer. "Come on, you can say it," Isabel encouraged.
"I love her. I want to be with her, okay?"
"Very good!" Isabel cheered.
"Don't patronize me, Izzy."
Isabel brushed his objection aside. "I'm not. And how does Maria feel about you? You might as well admit it, Michael, because I'm not leaving you alone until you do."
Crossly, Michael muttered something that Max didn't quite catch.
"What?" Isabel asked.
"I said she loves me!" Michael shouted, at the end of his tether. "I love Maria, Maria loves me. Are you happy now?"
Moving towards him, Isabel gave him a hug. "Yes," she said simply.
Michael ducked out of her embrace. "Good. Then you can help me figure out how to fix this."
"I think I can do that. Mind you," she warned, "it's not going to be easy. And you probably won't like it."
Not even trying to hide his trepidation, Michael glanced over at Max. "What do you think, Maxwell?"
Max grinned. "Honestly? I think Isabel should consider a career as a motivational speaker." And he ducked, laughing, as his sister pulled out a pillow from behind him and launched it in his direction.
CHAPTER 40
The next morning, Michael sat drumming his fingers in erratic rhythms on his desk as he waited for Maria to show up for English. Student after student filed into the room, but no Maria.
Great. It would figure that the one day he'd shown up early for school, Maria would run late.
He sighed and let his gaze wander around the room. Over half of the students were wearing blue and gold, the school colors, and most of the others bore some version of his mark on their cheek. Some wore both. And as far as any of them could tell, he was right there along with them. He had to hand it to Whitman and Valenti: looked like their scheme was working.
Of course, if it had been for real, he would have run screaming before doing anything that remotely smacked of school spirit....
A movement at the door caught his eye, and he froze in place. Was that really Maria? What the hell was she supposed to be? The clothing wasn't too bad--if it wasn't December. But the gold-colored skirt she wore--could you even call that a skirt?--was awfully short, and the blue top or shirt or whatever she wore with it wasn't that much better. Had her mother let her out of the house in that get-up? She shouldn't be allowed anywhere looking like that. He swallowed. Anywhere but his apartment, that is....
And, on top of her not-leaving-all-that-much-to-the-imagination clothing, her hair was blue. Blue. And she'd done something to her face, because it had a golden sheen. Well, at least she wasn't wearing Bob's stupid mark. He'd hated seeing her face marred by it yesterday. But, blue hair and all, the whole thing was surprisingly effective. Michael shifted in his seat. Was she trying to kill him?
He managed to find his voice as she sat down. "Hey," he said.
"Hey back." Her tone was off-hand.
"Uh...how's it going?"
"Fine, thanks. You?"
"Decent." Which that costume of hers wasn't. School spirit be damned--how come they hadn't sent her home yet? Wasn't there a dress code or something?
She must have gotten tired of him staring at her, because she frowned and snapped, "What?"
"Nothing," he blurted. "You just look--you look--"
"I look what?" she asked, her eyebrows raised.
He searched for the right word, finally settling on, "Uh...interesting."
"Interesting?" she said carefully, as if testing the word out on her tongue. "So is that good or bad?"
"Uh...it's good," he assured her. Then from somewhere, maybe from some Isabel-influenced portion of his brain, he heard himself add, "But you always look good."
She drew a quick breath in, then turned her attention to the front of the room as Mrs. Gideon started the class. But a pleased smile curved her lips upward.
Michael didn't smile, but he felt like it. He'd only told her the truth, but maybe for once he'd actually managed to do something right.
*****
He hadn't really meant to go to Maria's house. He didn't want to press his luck, after all; and she still wasn't exactly conversing with him, although he suspected she was still trying to torture him. Case in point: today's outfit. To anyone else, her pajama-clad body just made her blend in with all the other school spirit-reeking dorks. But she'd worn those same pajamas in a couple of the dreams they'd shared. Michael could still feel the softness of the faded flannel against his fingertips, and picture the pale sliver of skin that had been revealed as he'd started to unbutton the top....
Whoever had decided to make this Pajama Day should be shot.
Okay, maybe they shouldn't, since they were Whitman and Valenti. Valenti had already been there, anyway, and Max would just have to heal him again. Plus they were only doing it to help Michael in the first place. But that didn't mean Maria had to participate quite so thoroughly, did it?
Maria. She probably wasn't even home yet. For the past two days, she and Alex had spent most of the lunch hour discussing this afternoon's Whits rehearsal; they'd probably be practicing in the Whitman garage for hours yet. But regardless, Michael found his feet wandering down the sidewalk in the direction of the DeLuca residence. He hadn't meant to; he'd just wanted to get out and clear his head after several long hours of burying it in his schoolbooks. He didn't know if his bet with Maria was still on, but he was damned if he'd quit and let her win by default. Hence the studying. He wasn't surprised to find out he didn't enjoy it any more than he'd suspected he would. Bet or not, school just wasn't his thing.
His semi-willing studiousness had finally collapsed under the prickling need for action, for movement, and he'd escaped from his apartment into the cool December air. And now he found himself rounding the corner onto the street where Maria lived.
He was pathetic. He wasn't at all likely to see her, and there were plenty of other things he could be doing. Practicing his powers, for one. He hadn't really tried to use them since the night he and Nasedo had forced Bob into the shape of no return. To tell the truth, he was a little afraid to, not that he'd ever admit it to anyone else. He wasn't entirely certain why. Sure, the feeling he'd gotten when he first had created the little sparks of light back in his concrete prison--that had been incredible, like something inside him shifted into place, into a perfect fit. A moment of rightness in the midst of the swirling confusion and doubt that came from having his mind blasted open and a whole hidden part of his personality exposed. And part of him longed for that rightness again.
But battling against that were years of self-doubt. And finding out that this newly-controlled power had been generated by the death of his sister, back in his former life, didn't exactly help things. So in the few days since he'd been back, he hadn't taken the opportunity to practice. He could have; he just...hadn't.
He was going to have to deal with it sometime, though. That's why he'd told Max he wanted to spend Christmas break finding out just what he could do; Michael knew his best friend would hound him about it all vacation. Well, not hound, exactly, but he'd keep asking with genuine concern until Michael would be forced to buckle down and practice just to get Max off his back.
And at some point he'd need to know what he was capable of. Just because Nasedo said that other enemy aliens on Earth were unlikely, that didn't mean they were danger-free. They might very well have to defend themselves from a human threat if anyone else found out about them. Plus they still had the whole 'save the home planet from peril' agenda to worry about. Yeah, it was overwhelmingly, mind-numbingly impossible, but Michael had the feeling that Max wasn't going to accept that. His best friend had a massively overdeveloped--and now planet-sized--sense of responsibility. It was a pain in the ass.
If the hours and hours spent lurking outside Maria's house during the whole anonymous note fiasco hadn't attuned Michael to the physical surroundings, the quickly shifting thoughts tumbling through his mind might have kept him from noticing the furtive movement at the side of the home. But as it was, his eye was drawn to the man who was peering through a window, hand cupped over his eyes to cut off the glare of the afternoon sun's reflection.
Tensing, Michael took refuge behind a conveniently parked car across the street to scope out the situation. He didn't think he'd seen the guy before, and he wasn't getting a freaky alien threat vibe from him, but something about him wasn't right. Something beyond the fact that he was playing peeping tom.
Michael was suddenly very glad about Maria's rehearsal. She could stay with Whitman and the other guys in the band all night, if she wanted. She'd be safe there. Even if the other band members weren't harmless, Alex would look out for her. Although she could probably handle those three by herself, anyway. Whatever--Maria would be okay there, that was the point. And her mother would still be at her shop, so she'd be okay too, no matter what this guy was up to.
Flattening his palm against the glass, the man peered through the window one last time, then pushed away from the house and moved towards the street. Not just towards the street, but across it and towards the car Michael was using as cover.
Shit!
Hastily he ducked down and pretended to be retying the lace on his boot. As the guy came near, Michael straightened and strolled casually down the sidewalk. The guy didn't pay him any attention, just climbed into the car and started it up. As the car--a beige Buick Regal, Michael noted--went by, he took a good look at the New Mexico license plate. Then, his face set, he headed away from the house. He didn't need an excuse to put off his homework any longer--he had something to do.
*****
Alex couldn't help but grin as The Whits surged into a final chorus of 'Santa Baby'. A sweater-and-blue jean clad Maria was singing her heart out on the sappy Christmas song. They'd really pulled this Christmas stuff together pretty fast--he had a feeling the gig would go just fine. First, McGill & Chavez Insuance Co.'s Christmas party, next stop, Rolling Stone. Or at least a regular spot somewhere, enough to keep them in guitar strings and amp cords.
It wasn't like he was intending to make music his life or anything. He loved it, he really did, but he wanted something a bit more stable. And he had every intention of graduating from high school and going off to college somewhere, just like his parents had planned. He was torn between the intricacies of the computer and those of the human mind; he'd probably end up either in programming or psychology.
Anyway, he'd really started The Whits to meet girls, or at least that's what he'd told the guys. It may have been true then, but not now. Not when he was walking the ledge between friendship and something else with Isabel Evans. And a good thing too, since the upcoming gig was only likely to introduce him to women his mother's age. Insurance--not the place to pick up a hottie.
The song over, he swung his bass strap over his shoulder and placed the instrument carefully in its stand. Nicky and Marcus were arguing about the tempo of the last tune, while Chris looked on, twirling his drumsticks in between his fingers. Across the garage Maria was drinking from a water bottle, rubbing the back of her neck. As he headed towards her, her hand stilled and she slowly turned in the direction of the garage's side door. Alex wasn't too surprised when Michael Guerin entered a moment later.
But he was surprised when Michael strode right past Maria and headed in his direction.
"I need to talk to you," Michael said, not mincing matters. "It's important."
It usually was, with Michael. He really needed to learn how to relax a little. Get a hobby or something. But now was probably not the time to bring it up. "Yeah, sure." Alex raised his voice. "Let's take a break, okay? There's pop and junk food in the kitchen." It didn't take more than a mention of free food to have the guys heading out of the garage into the house. Alex couldn't decide if that made them typical teenagers or typical musicians. Maybe both. He turned back to Michael. "What's up?"
"How good are you on the computer?" Michael asked. "I need you to do some hacking."
"I've gotten into the FBI server," Alex said airily. He had, too, so it wasn't exactly bragging. "Anything else should be anti-climactic."
"Why, what's going on?" Maria demanded, coming up to them.
"I need to trace a car."
Maria didn't seem satisfied by this rather sketchy statement. "What car?"
For a moment Michael hesitated, and Alex thought he was going to refuse to explain. Then he shrugged and made what Alex suspected was the wise choice not to keep her in the dark. "I was walking by your house--"
Her eyebrows rose. "Why?"
"I don't know why, okay? I just was," Michael snapped. He made a visible effort to pull himself together. "And I saw someone looking into your windows."
"Another shapeshifter?" she suggested uneasily.
Michael shook his head. "I don't think so. I didn't...I didn't get that kind of feeling from him."
Maria gave a thoughtful nod. Alex asked, "So a burglar or peeping tom or something? Why not call Sheriff Valenti? He could run a trace, easy."
The alien fixed his eyes on Alex, who twitched uncomfortably under his gaze. But when Michael spoke, he didn't sound that upset. "I'm not stupid, okay?" he said. "I already called Valenti and he traced the license plate. Problem is, it's a rental car. I want you to hack into their records and find out who the driver is."
"Having the Sheriff inquire would be easier," Alex pointed out.
"The rental place is in Santa Fe, so it's not exactly in his jurisdiction. And getting the police there involved is gonna take a lot more than some juvenile delinquent saying he saw someone looking in a window."
"You're not a juvenile delinquent," Maria protested.
"Yeah? I don't think too many other people are gonna see it that way. Face it: Valenti excluded, the cops and I are never gonna get along." He turned back to Alex. "So can you do it or not?"
Alex considered for a moment. Maybe he shouldn't have crowed over his earlier success. "I can try. Hacking the FBI was just a matter of following Ms. Topolsky's email backwards. This--well, I can try," he repeated.
"If you can't, I'll go to Plan B."
"What's Plan B?" Alex asked.
Michael shrugged. "I go to Santa Fe to check it out myself."
Although this suggestion seemed obvious to Alex, it didn't sit well with Maria. "Wait a minute," she said, cutting into their planning. "Maybe we don't need to do either. Michael, what did this peeper look like?"
"I don't know, just a guy."
She rolled her eyes. "You're the one with the perfect visual recall. So recall."
"White. Brown hair. Not too tall, but not short, either. Average build," Michael listed obediently. He closed his eyes to better picture the image. "Dark red jacket, jeans, running shoes. Clean shaven. Uh...crooked nose, maybe broken...He was wearing sunglasses, so I couldn't see his eyes." His own eyes opened. "Ring any bells?"
Alex glanced over at Maria. She was frowning, her eyes focusing on something far away. "Maria?"
"What? No," she said. "No, he doesn't sound familiar. He could be anybody." She tightened the lid on her water bottle, then unscrewed it again. "Look, it doesn't sound like anything important. Probably just a salesman or something. Let's just leave it, okay?"
Something about this wasn't right. And from the expression on Michael's face, he agreed. "I don't think--" Alex began.
Maria cut him off. "I said to leave it."
"I'm not gonna--" Michael started. He didn't get any further than Alex had.
"I mean it. Promise me you'll drop this, both of you," she said firmly. But her eyes pleaded with them.
"Yeah, sure," Alex said. If she was that upset about it, he wasn't about to make things worse.
For his part, Michael kept quiet, his jaw tight. Maria looked up at him. "Michael. Please."
Michael let out a deep breath. "Fine. I promise. I won't chase this guy's car down. I'll drop the subject. You happy now?"
Maria's voice was soft. "Thank you."
"Whatever," Michael muttered. He turned on his heel and stalked over to the door. Standing in the doorway, he turned back to Maria. "I don't know what you're hiding, Maria, but tell somebody. Alex, Liz...somebody." Then the door swung shut behind him.
Alex studied his friend, who was carefully not looking in his direction. "What's going on, Maria?"
"Nothing," she assured him, her tone lighter now. "Michael's just being way too overprotective, as usual. He's got to learn he can not run my life for me, that's all." She took a swig of water. "So how about we get the guys back in here? We've still got a lot to run through, right?" And she moved smoothly to the kitchen door.
Alex sighed. If only she and Michael would work out whatever was going on between them, life would be a lot easier all around.
*****
Amy DeLuca was in the living room, watching the news and sipping peppermint tea, when Maria arrived home.
"Hey, honey," she said. "How was rehearsal?"
Maria dropped her bookbag on the floor and sat down beside her mother. "Pretty good," she answered. "At least I don't think we'll embarrass ourselves." She looked around the room. This was the first time she'd been in here since the night Bob had taken them hostage. She was a little surprised that it didn't bother her more--was she actually getting inured to such matters?
And even more than that, her mother seemed perfectly calm about it. Maria had been expecting an order to stay away from the Czechoslovakians--or at least a series of lectures on safety. Of course, her mother did have other things on her mind....
When Maria had heard about the man who'd been staring into their windows, she'd wondered if perhaps it had been the detective her mother had hired to find Uncle Teddy. But she wasn't going to ask. She wanted nothing to do with that, and she certainly didn't want to have to explain it to Alex and Michael. Not even Liz knew about it, and she wanted it kept that way. It was all right, though; they'd both promised to leave it alone. And she trusted Michael to keep an actual promise.
She glanced over at the TV, where the weatherman was predicting sunny skies and reasonable temperatures for the upcoming weekend. Decent weather, which was nice, although between her heavy work schedule at the Crashdown and Sunday afternoon's gig, she wouldn't have much time to enjoy it. Thank goodness for Christmas break--she could hardly wait until she had a little down time.
Of course, before then she had homework and a decision about what to wear for tomorrow's Spirit Week effort. She needed something good--she wasn't about to be caught dead in something half-hearted. Liz had already decided to go as Dorothy, braids, blue dress, red shoes and all; but Maria was still undecided.
A smile flitted across her lips. Tuesday's effort had certainly paid off. Michael had actually given her a clumsy compliment, and he wasn't the only guy who'd noticed her that day. She hadn't gotten that much attention since she'd worn the Aqua Bra last year in an ill-fated (and chilly) attempt to make Michael realize what he was missing out on.
Of course, her choices of outfits so far this week had nothing to do with that. She hadn't had Michael in mind as she put together her admittedly extreme outfit for Blue-and-Gold Day, not at all. And she'd chosen those particular PJs for Pajama Day solely because they were warm and comfortable, and because she could get by her mother more easily in them than in the skimpier tank top-and-shorts set she usually slept in. If Michael thought she looked good--well, that was just a bonus. She'd kept him totally out of her choices so far; she'd do the same for tomorrow's outfit. If only she could figure out what it would be....
Next to her, her mother rose and moved towards the doorway. "I'm going to see about dinner," she said. "How does chicken and onion rice sound?"
"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Maria replied, only halfway listening. Her mother was still handicapped by the sling and cast, though, so she should help out. Not cook or anything--she didn't want to accidentally poison them--but whatever she could do. "I'll come set the table in a minute, okay?" She grabbed her bookbag and headed for her room.
Five minutes later, she sank, dissatisfied, onto her bed. She needed a killer outfit, and all she had was the same old stuff. She could hardly pretend like her favorite movie character was a homeless person.
If only she could wave her wand and magically transform something from her closet into something out-of-the-ordinary, then she--
Oh. Oooohhhhh!
Scrambling for the phone, she dialed a number and stood, waiting breathlessly, for it to be answered. A moment later, a voice on the other end said, "Hello?"
"Isabel?" Maria said. "Could you help me with something?"
continue to chapters 41 and 42
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